Night Stand
by Anastasia Athene
Summary: It is 6:47 AM. Today is June 9th. It is not your nightstand. Pam recalls the events of the night of June 8th into the morning of June 9th.


**Oh, wow. My muses are out of control. For some reason, I keep coming up with new stuff like this but can't seem to finish old stuff...weird. And yes, this is a Pam/Ryan, but keep in mind that I love Pam/Jim with all my heart and I'm just trying a different perspective on the whole situation. Also, don't ever drink and drive. That's my advice for the day, LOL. Okay. I hope you enjoy this! Please review! PS. I don't own The Office.**

Night Stand

Today is June 9th. It is 6:47 AM, according to the digital clock on the nightstand.

It's not your nightstand.

Your mind cleanly registers this fact, but it's just a cold fact, a statistic that doesn't even matter anymore.

Today is June 9th. It is 6:47 AM. It is not your nightstand.

Your head hurts.

You keep staring at the clock, not moving, just watching the numbers change. Your mind records the red numbers.

6:48 AM. 6:49 AM. 6:50 AM.

At 6:58 AM, he stirs beside you but does not wake, and you're grateful because you were never good at faking sleep.

You're grateful because you're still not sure what to do with this.

Today is June 9th and it is now 6:59 AM, but yesterday was June 8th and at 8:07 PM, your life ended. You don't mean to be so dramatic, but you suppose it's true on some level.

You don't want to think about it, so instead, your mind numbly repeats the information you have now.

Yesterday was June 8th. At 8:07 PM, he boarded a plane. And when he does come back, he won't be here anymore. His transfer to Stamford begins immediately after his trip.

Yesterday was June 8th. At 9:14 PM, you tried to forget about the plane that left at 8:07 PM. It was supposed to be your bachelorette party, but you made up an excuse about being exhausted and told your sister you were going home. Instead, you went to Poor Richard's. You had lots of alcohol.

It was 11:21 PM when you were past the point of laughing too loudly and smiling all the time. At 11:21 PM, you were angry and sad and kept asking for gin and scotch and vodka, because you were _done _with the fruity girly drinks and wanted something hard and bitter, just like you were.

Then at 11:30 exactly—you remember because it was such an exact number—Ryan walked in the bar looking really tired. He recognized you and after hesitating for a minute, he walked over and took the seat next to you.

You rolled your eyes and Ryan gave you a strange look. His eyes were glassy, and you smirked at him and asked him how much he'd already drank this lovely evening.

He looked you in the eye and told you he had been with Kelly since 8. So, a lot.

Then he ordered a beer for himself and asked you what you wanted, because your glass was empty. You scoffed at him and told him beer was for lightweights.

He gave you a raised eyebrow and ordered a water for you.

You were beyond drunk anyway, so it didn't help. You were bitter and angry and so hurt, and he was desperate and tired and _there_, and so somehow you ended up in the parking lot, making out against the door of his car.

He wasn't as drunk as you, so he drove back to his apartment—which, in retrospect, was not the best idea either of you ever had—and as soon as he let you through his door, you pulled him to you so you were pinned against the kitchen counter.

Right before you did that, you saw the clock on the microwave. It was 12:26 AM. June 9th.

You could barely undo the buttons on his shirt, you were so drunk. But he was drunk, too, so it didn't matter. He fumbled with the knot on the halter top you put on especially for your party, and when he finally got it undone, your mind was hazy and his hands felt like someone else's.

It was 12:29 AM and you wanted his hands to be someone else's.

You wanted _him_ to be someone else, but he wasn't tall enough and his hair was too dark and his eyes were too blue, and your shirt was on the kitchen floor, and his was too, and he clumsily led you to his room, which looked different from what you wanted it to be, and laid you down on his bed. He kissed your neck and your head tilted and that's when you noticed the clock on his nightstand.

It was 12:35 when he unzipped your jeans. Then you unzipped his and it was only a matter of time before he was inside you.

He said "I'm sorry," after he came. It was 1:06. You said, "It's my fault anyway," and he rolled over and stared at the ceiling. You kept staring at the clock.

"He would come back for you, you know." 1:08 AM.

"I know."

You don't remember falling asleep, but you suppose that's normal.

When you wake up, your mind is surprisingly clear, except for the pounding headache and the soreness between your legs, and your eyes open on the digital clock.

It is 6:47 AM.

Then you remember what day it is.

It is 6:47 AM. Today is June 9th.

You're getting married tomorrow.

Yesterday was June 8th. Your life ended at 8:07 PM.

You count the numbers.

It is 6:59 AM.

Ryan stirs beside you and moans a little in his sleep.

It is 7:00 AM.

Ryan is not Jim.

It is not your nightstand.

**--looks around nervously-- Well, I hope you all enjoyed it. Please please let me know what you think! Thanks!**


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